Nearly an hour later, the small party set off. With Tom’s assistance, the two of them spirited Michael out of his bedroom, through the house, and finally out into the chilling, autumn evening. Good to his word, the youngest of the trio produced a functional, if not outwardly unappealing conveyance.
“What kind of carriage is that?” Mouse asked, looking at the great behemoth before them.
“It’s a gypsy’s dream, Mouse,” Michael whispered beside her. His skin looked unnaturally pale in the half-moonlight of midnight. Still, he showed no outward signs of discomfort and leaned only slightly upon his two compatriots.
“Aye,” answered Tom. “I filched it some years back when I was no more than a lad. A lord from the high country left it aside the road, too broken down for repairs and I fixed it up. My Gran and I kept it hid in the woods. She always thought as he might need it someday or other.” The young man beamed proudly.
“And so I have, Tom. Though I’m not sure how we’re to get it very far. What about the horses?”
“I borrowed them from one of the crofters. Ben Hastings. He was the one of them that pulled you out of the mud, the other day.”
Michael nodded. “I remember him. Half tore my bloody arm off.” He glanced at Mouse for a brief moment. “Won’t he need them for the harvest?”
“No, sir. He met with an unfortunate accident. He was caught in the haystack with Simon Blackie’s new wife. You know, they were—” Tom gave a knowing wink.
“Yes,” Michael answered with a short cough, obviously embarrassed about discussing such things in front of a lady. “What were the damages?”
“A bloody nose, a broken leg and lump the size of a tree trunk on his head. The last came from his wife. I don’t expect he’ll be doing much farming this year.”
Between the two of them, Mouse and Tom managed to get Michael into the back of the coach. It was large and spacious on the inside, demonstrating the popular style of its breed from twenty years past. Of course, time and neglect had left it partially rotted away, with the stuffing of the seat cushions exposed and the wooden framing bare from peeling paint. Mouse sighed, taking the seat opposite her husband. It would definitely be a good disguise for an earl traveling in the country. With no further comment from him, they began their journey.
Michael had been more affected by their flight from his rooms than he’d allowed. Once she had him settled in a semi-reclining position, the earl fell into a deep sleep. Resting comfortably, his color returned to a healthier shade. Mouse was too excited to rest, so she busied herself with a yarn and needle she’d brought along for the trip. Despite her dislike of domestic tasks, Mouse realized that they’d likely have need of heavy blankets by time the season changed. She intended to keep her husband from the dreadful clutches of pneumonia this winter.
~ * ~
Several hours passed before daylight. Michael slept fitfully at first, moaning at practically every rut in the road. In the early hours of morning, Mouse huddled next to him, trying to comfort him as best she could.
The day dragged on before them. Stopping only twice for food, water and necessities, the small party continued their journey south. Mouse decided it would be best to take a less direct route in order to avoid raising the suspicions of passing travelers. Michael slept on and
off during the day. Despite the constant jogging of the carriage, he didn’t complain once. By midday, the roughness of the journey became etched in his face. As the day wore on his expression became drawn and his breathing slightly labored. Mouse worried over him constantly, fearing that her idea to remove him from Rosecliff might not have been the best after all.
Just after dusk, Tommy pulled the horses up short. Michael had finally fallen into a peaceful slumber; his head lying on Mouse’s lap, his feet propped up against the side of the carriage. With the rocking motion of the miles they’d traveled, she too had been lulled to sleep. The tasks of watching her husband and fretting over their predicament had finally done her in. The sudden stillness of the carriage awoke her. She glanced up to see Tommy enter the cab.
Groggily, Mouse sat forward, “Why have you stopped? Wouldn’t it be best to travel at night?”
“Oh, aye, but the horses need a bit of rest. They’ve been going nigh on twenty-four hours. If we don’t rest them, they’ll drop for sure, then it’d be me an’ you pulling this crate.”
Mouse nodded, “All right. Should we make camp?”
“I don’t know this area well,” he answered. “I’ve pulled us off the main road a piece, that way we won’t be seen by any highwaymen. I’m more worried about the wild animals. Fire’s the only thing that keeps them away. If we light one up it might attract other visitors. I think it’d be best to tough it out in the carriage. You go on and get a few hours and I’ll stand the watch. Near to daylight, I’ll wake you.”
Mouse nodded, feeling a bit guilty. The boy looked nearly done in. Perhaps he’d sleep later in the day and she could drive the carriage. She doubted that she’d have any problem managing the horses, but people might ask questions about a lady driver.
After what seemed like a short time, Mouse felt a hand on her shoulder. She’d curled up beside her husband and managed a pocket of warmth between them.
Mumbling her thanks, Mouse pulled Tommy into the carriage and squirmed her own way out. He had built a small fire, despite his misgivings. It was well hidden behind thick brush on the opposing side of the carriage, where it wasn’t visible from the road.
Stirring the ashes, and trying desperately to absorb what little warmth came from the small blaze, Mouse desperately fought the heaviness of sleep that threatened to overtake her. Stretching to keep herself awake, she couldn’t help but miss the warm space she’d just left. Her makeshift pallet in the floor of the carriage was far from desirable, but compared to the jostling dozing of their journey thus far, it seemed like her feather bed back at Tynesdale.
Ah, Tynesdale. Mouse felt her heart squeeze when she thought about her far away home. It was the small estate where she’d grown up. Set in the country, her first home was a rural village where her father had been well respected, her mother dearly loved, and she and her sisters treasured. There she’d learned about the nature of her home, grew to the delight of her parents and sisters, and it was there where she’d learned to read and write. Those days of leisure were long past and it was in these quiet moments that she missed them the most.
She had never supported her father’s decision to move to the city. As a rebellious young lady, Mouse had often spoken out about it. But now, facing the flickering shadows, she dearly missed her family. The ache of her mother’s absence had long remained with her. With her father gone as well, Mouse couldn’t help but feel a sense of abandonment. Of course there were her sisters to confide in, but the miles that separated them left her feeling all the more desolate. They would know what to do with her sick husband and how to face Ambray and Winthorp.
~ * ~
A storm had descended on Rosecliff and its name was Ambray Kelton.
“Well?” He demanded of the staff. There was no sound in the room save for the sobbing of Dorcas, who really wasn’t responsible for anything, as she’d finished her own chores in an orderly fashion and had been tucked into bed when the incident occurred.
Mauler and Horn said nothing at all, stood staring at the dervish before them, taking the brunt of their employer’s wrath much like two tall oak trees in a summer squall.
Finally, Mauler finally came forward. “I was with his Lordship all night. I didn’t hear a single sound from his room.” He declared calmly.
“Oh really? And how do you suppose it is that my cousin managed to slip away without making a sound?”
“I don’t know, sir. His hands an’ feet were tied securely. I did ‘em up as usual.” He shrugged.
“And that little chit? Did anyone see or hear her leave the premises?”
All heads shook.
“Nay, sir.” Dorcas answered between sobs. “I gave her dinner in her rooms, as usual. She said she was having a headache and chose to retire early last night. I didn’t think anything of it, as she’s been feeling poorly of late.”
“I see. And no one thought to check on either one of them?”
“We had no reason to, sir,” Horn answered.
Ambray looked about to explode then, his usually pale complexion now a deep magenta as he stared down his house staff. Before he could unleash his mountainous amounts of anger upon them, Dorcas spoke up.
“Mr. Kelton, this is a terrible thing! What will we tell her ladyship’s sister, Lady Throckmorten?”
He turned upon the maid and paused a moment, In a tone reserved only for children and fools, he turned to his maid.
“And why would we be notifying Lady Throckmorten?”
“Because she is Lady Winningham’s sister, that’s why. Before his lordship whisked her away, she was planning to leave and visit her.”
Ambray’s mind worked furiously. “Yes,” he said at last, “we will have to warn, ah, I mean notify them.” Clearing his throat he turned away from them a moment, “We need to know the ************************************************************ **** of all of dear Miranda’s family. Such a tragedy that she was spirited away by my poor, sick cousin.” He turned back to his staff, “They had to have enlisted aid from somewhere. Was there anyone about this last week? Any of the villagers, perhaps?”
Mauler scratched his head. “There was that beggar lad. He hangs about the place looking for handouts and such,” he started.
“What? When?”
“Three days ago. I shooed him off. It was no more trouble than that, sir.”
“Perhaps,” Ambray said, thoughtfully. “We will certainly be on the watch for him.”
“Sir,” asked Dorcas, “will you be wanting to notify the authorities?” She sniffled.
“No. At least not yet. I’m going to enlist some help from a few friends and see if we can apprehend them ourselves. No need get anyone else involved. At least not yet.”
~ * ~
Quiet as a sigh, Mouse moved about the room. She’d carried heavy doubts about their stopping for the night, but the pale hue of her husband’s skin was enough to decide the matter. He grew weaker with every passing hour and by sunset of their second day on the road, she knew he would not make London alive. So, taking what few valuables she had, she bartered a room at a small inn. Rundown and flea-bitten, at least the sheets were passably clean. Mouse knew she wouldn’t be able to afford many nights like this, but perhaps he might recover enough during the next hours to make the other half of their journey.
“Easy, my love,” She spoke softly as she tucked her husband into the bed in the master bedroom. He barely moved. Fearful, she stopped to watch the slow, steady rise of his chest. Tentatively she lightly touched his forehead. It was cool and slightly damp. His eyes fluttered open at her caress.
“Oh, Mouse,” he breathed, then drifted off into sleep.
She patted him gently on the shoulder, relieved that he at least swam close enough to consciousness to recognize her. Settling into a chair beside the bed, she kept a steady vigil. As the evening progressed, Mouse slipped into a heavy doze. Sometime later she was startled awake by her husband’s shouting.
“No, Ambray!” His voice pleaded beside her. Mouse sat forward abruptly upon hearing his plea.
“What is it, Michael? What’s wrong?”
Before she could arouse him further, he began to speak again. In the same pleading tones, Michael begged his cousin to relent in
whatever ordeal was playing out in his dream. At her touch, he began to thrash about, his arms and legs fighting off the demons that inhabited his nightmare.
“Please. Don’t do this.” He cried out, his voice louder, strengthened by whatever fear gripped him.
Mouse wanted to give him ease, to shake him from the grasp of the evil spirit that had emerged from his sleep. The fiend had a name, Ambray. What was it that bound he and his cousin together and simultaneously tortured him so completely? What had his cousin done to him? What did he know that might save her husband?
“No! Not that. Never that.” He cried out again, this time the timber of his voice raising to the rafters.
“Michael.” Mouse shook him violently by the shoulders. “Wake up, Michael. It’s only a dream!” She leaned over him, bringing the candle to light his features. Michael’s eyes opened wide and as he focused on imagined spirit from his dreams.
By the time she’d finished her exam, her husband began to quake. The muscles of his jaw clenched tightly. Moaning loudly, Michael’s keening soon grew into a full throated scream.
“Michael! You must be quiet, my love.” Mouse was afraid that if her husband’s cries would arouse everyone at the inn.
Tom burst into the room, quickly shooing away the gathering of residents who stood outside the door trying to catch a glimpse of the madman. Pushing Mouse out of the way, he descended on her husband in a surprising show of strength and agility. Straddling him, the young man secured her husband effectively, turning Michael so that he lay upon his back. With one hand planted firmly on his chest, Tom held him steady, pushing him into the mattress.
For a few seconds, Mouse watched in horror. She’d been witness to Michael’s fits only one time before this. But this was the first time without Ambray’s influence or the strong arms of his caretakers. A sudden fear overwhelmed her. For an instant she wished she hadn’t spirited her husband out into the wilderness. As soon as that thought occurred to her, she pushed it away. They’d been torturing her husband, she reminded herself. Deep down she believed that if she hadn’t gotten him away from them, he might have died.
“Mind his head!” Tom shouted to her.
Her doubts quickly forgotten, Mouse rushed forward and grasping Michael’s head, she held him steady. Tom quickly pulled something from his pocket. Forcing his mouth open, he expertly thrust a four-inch piece of twisted leather between Michael’s teeth, securing it with a torn strip of cloth.
“What are you doing?” Mouse demanded, her suspicions again rising. Could it be possible that Ambray had been right about the strangers meaning to do her husband harm?
“We need to keep him from biting his tongue.”
Mouse saw his clenching and unclenching jaw. Instantly she felt foolish for doubting him.
“That’s it, milady.” Tom called out. “Hold him still.”
In silence and horror, Mouse watched as her husband continued to spasm. With Tom thrown across him, the action doing nothing more than anchoring him in the bed, the two of them continued the macabre dance—one atop the sheets, the other beneath them. She didn’t know how many minutes passed in this fashion, but after a time, Michael’s convulsions began to ease and his howling soon deteriorated into a low, helpless moaning.
“Dear God!” Mouse said, when she’d again found her voice.
“There,” Tom told her, “he’ll be aright. You’ll see.”
Mouse nodded, but remained silent when Tom left them, pulling the door shut behind him. With shaking hands, she returned to her husband’s side. Straightening the bed around him, she did her best to collect her thoughts. Be all right? How could he be? What was happening to him?”
“Mouse?” He called out weakly.
“I’m here, Michael.” she answered him, her voice coarse and thick in her throat. “Don’t worry, my love! We’re going to get you well again.” She suddenly couldn’t staunch the flow of tears that fell unbidden to dampen blanket that now covered him. She loved him. And she would lie and do worse if she had to.
“You’re still with me?” He asked.
“I’ll never leave you, Michael. Never.” She sat down beside him clasping his hands in hers.
“I can’t see you, Mouse. Everything is black.”
“The darkness is back?”
“Yes. How long, this time?”
“Only a few minutes, I think.” She paused a moment. “How do you feel?”
He took a deep breath, “Tired, my Mouse. Very tired.” He closed his eyes and slipped once again into slumber.
She sat a moment, watching the movement of his chest, slow and deep with each inhalation. Still in her grasp, his hands did begin to feel warmer. Alone in her grief, Mouse bent her head forward and began to cry, a flood of questions overtaking her mind. Was her husband truly beyond hope?
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Tom returned. The ever-faithful servant, he carried a small tray, with a tin pot of steeping liquid, and two earthenware cups.
“Here ye go, Lady Winningham. It’s all right. He’ll sleep for sometime and be all the better for it. You’ll see. Like as not, this was a bad one, but not as bad as some.”
Mouse wiped her face on her sleeve. “What do you mean, ‘bad as some’. Has he done this before?”
Tom looked away for a moment. “I’ve not seen him have a spell before but I’d heard stories from the servants at Rosecliff. Sometimes they’d say he howled for days. When he’d come back to himself, he’d remember none of it. At least that’s what they said. Might not be all truth to it, you know how people will talk.”
Mouse nodded absently. She knew too well, but she couldn’t help but wonder at Tom’s explanation. She had the distinct impression that he wasn’t telling her the complete truth about how he’d come to know her husband so well. It was worrisome, but with bigger concerns to plague her, she put it away for now.
~ * ~
True to Tom’s prediction, Michael slept through the day and the entire night. Mouse aroused him briefly to give him broth and clean him up, but other than that he slept, a thankfully dreamless sleep. He didn’t fully arouse until after midnight the following day.
There was a full moon that night. A splash of light fell across their bed. Mouse had left the window slightly open, so that the smoke from the hearth wouldn’t stifle them. The chimney was not in good repair. So, with the combination of the curtains ruffling in the night air, and the light billowing on and off around them, Mouse woke to the playful dance of shade and light.
“Hello,” came Michael’s voice beside her.
“Michael. How long have you been awake?” She yawned and stretched. The two were huddled together in the narrow bed and Mouse found that having achieved a comfortable position, she was loath to give it up. With the breeze blowing across them and Michael’s warm countenance beside her she felt better than she had in weeks, and was completely enjoying the use of his body in this manner. And said as much as she snuggled in even closer.
“A bit,” he said, turning towards her, gathering her into the hollow of his waist. “Just lying here, watching the moonlight and you.”
“Pretty dull, I’d imagine,” she noted.
“No, actually, it’s been quite relaxing.” He settled his head upon hers. “I’ve just been wondering why?”
“Why what?”
“Why you’re here with me?”
“I love you.” She felt a blush creep up her face. She turned to gaze at him and saw the look of concern written there.
“I know that’s what you think. Why? You’ve no hope of ever getting through this without being hurt.” He quickly looked down. “Not that I don’t love and cherish you every bit as much for it. It’s just that I’m not usually the sort of man that women are attracted to,” he finished quietly.
Mouse considered him a moment. Why no woman would be attracted to this striking man was certainly beyond her. She looked up at him in the dim light of midnight and saw him all the clearer. “What do you mean? You are far more handsome than any man I’ve ever met.”
He smiled then. “Oh, I don’t really mean physical attributes, though I do suppose that helps. No, I can’t explain it, but women often look at me more as a curiosity I think.” He sighed. “They’ve
always been drawn to Ambray, too. His light coloring, and good looks seem to attract them like flies to honey. Once they seen him, they never took a second look at me.”
“Well, maybe that’s because of how austere you always appear.”
“Me? Frightened half out of my wits by the female gender is more likely.”
“Hmmm. You do tend to frown more when you’re ill at ease. I remember the first night I saw you. You were scowling like a bear. I have to admit, I was pretty frightened, too.”
“Of me?”
“No, not of you. Of that party and all those dreadful people looking down their noses at me. Scared me silly.”
“But, I didn’t scare you?” He stared into her eyes then. “Not even a little?”
She gently shook her head. “Not a bit. You were the most interesting thing about the event, as I recall. I was so delighted when I’d heard you’d sent for us, I could hardly believe it.”
His smile weakened. “But, I didn’t send for you. That was Ambray. He was the one who chose you, not I.” He looked away then, his eyes searching the shadows beyond their bed.
“What does it matter how we came to be together? For me, I cannot believe that out of all those women, so rich and beautiful, I was chosen to be your wife. It doesn’t matter who did the choosing, whether it was God or Ambray Kelton. I chose to stay. I am here with you now and for as long as you want me.” Mouse couldn’t help the tear that slid gently down her cheek.
His expression softened as his hand gently moved up to wipe the moisture from her face. “I’m sorry, my love.” He leaned down,
Mouse giggled as the cool night air tickled her bare back.
But, the warmth she sought was beneath her. The bright fire of his burned in his eyes, and warmed her to her very soul.
“Please, Mouse!” He whispered, straining his body upward to fill the small void the separated them.
“Not yet,” she answered back, sliding over him provocatively. She meant not to deny him but instead to tease and delight him. She so wanted to feel every inch of him.
Mouse took a deep breath, and asked the question that had formed in her mind since the very first time she’d been introduced to the mad earl.
“Michael,” she began softly, “just what lies between you and Ambray? One moment you are brothers and the next, dreaded enemies. You seem to love him and hate him so. How can that be?”
He was quiet beside her and she could feel his body tighten at her words. For a bit she was afraid he might not answer.
“I can’t tell you, Mouse. It’s better that you never know. Go to sleep.” He turned from her then, and faced the ************************************************************ **** But before he did, she thought she saw his eyes moisten.
“I’m sorry.” She said quietly.
He did not answer, but reached behind him, grasped her hand, and pulled it to lie over his waist. “Never mind. Go to sleep, little Mouse.”
16-02-07, 06:40 PM
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